


Despair: The Darkest Mother

by Life_0r_Death



Series: YGO Collab Love Drabbles [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Despair, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mild Blood, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, implied tutorshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Life_0r_Death/pseuds/Life_0r_Death
Summary: Bastion's emotionally unstable, only able to feel the quell of numbness through a crude blade. His mind wanders and questions, just what is he meant for?**TRIGGERING CONTENT: SUICIDAL  THOUGHTS AND SELF-HARM**
Relationships: Misawa Daichi | Bastion Misawa/Yuuki Juudai | Jaden Yuki
Series: YGO Collab Love Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793239
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3
Collections: Spirit Gate Round 11





	Despair: The Darkest Mother

**Author's Note:**

> For YGO Collab Love's Spirit Gate Round 11

Despair.

What was it like?

It was the scent of blood hitting his nostrils as he used his crude version of a blade to cut his upper arm. Not the wrist. Not anymore. There, he was caught and there he was berated for being weak. For falling into the temptations of his self destructive nature.

No, he now cut his pale skin closer to his shoulder, using opened scissors that required twice as much pressure to even bite. It left shallow lines, something that barely took on a tone of ‘deadly.’ But that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point. No. Cutting his skin and seeing his blood made his pain _valid_. Seeing red and touching the liquid between his fingertips turned all that anguish deep inside into a visual representation.

A representation of what?

Utter despair.

It ate at him well before he decided to hurt himself. Ate at his ever spiraling mind as his friends ignored his presence, let him speak only a sentence or two before he wasn’t worth their time anymore. Besides, Bastion was the one who gave advice. He was the one who listened. If he didn’t do that, if he was broken and needed their help, then what good was he really?

No one wanted to help others. They just wanted their own personal punching bag.

Fingers ran over the lines on his arm in harsh strides, scratching at the skin until the smaller cuts opened enough to bleed more. Yes, that created the numbing pain Bastion required. It muted the spiraling thoughts and the dangerous notions of jumping off the cliff of the Slifer dorms. It validated everything he felt. Validated every irk and quiet tears that he hid away within his dormitory. Quieted the voice deep in his mind telling him he was an utter disappointment.

With each pass of his nails, he could think just a bit better.

No one knew of his despair. Of his great hate in his own life and worth. Of how much he wished to find a proper knife and run it across his throat.

He’d sought help from his ‘friends’ in these matters. But often… they told him to ‘kill what he hated.’ What does that mean if the thing he hated was his own being?

_“You’re my problem, Bas. You are this fake version that smiles and pretends to be perfect. Don’t! Don’t be perfect! If you hate a portion of yourself, then kill it. Get rid of it and rise again.”_

Bastion sniffled. His fingers moved to his throat, dancing over the skin of his jugular. He felt his pulse, thought about it stopping. A new swirling sensation behind his eyes made him close his lids. The memory brought new tears. He’d need to numb them again.

_“I love you, Bastion. I am harsh because I want you to live. I want you to see your worth.”_

Sweet Jaden tried to understand. He’s hold Bastion, pet his hair and scowl at the marks on his arms. He’d try to force Bastion to talk, to see someone, to get help. It was kind and wonderful, but Bastion could never quiet that voice in his mind that told him otherwise. Told him Jaden wanted him to commit suicide. Told him that Jaden deserved better and should he die, then he’d get better.

He’d have to remind himself that Jaden meant nothing like that. Just wanted Bastion to know he was there despite not understanding how he felt.

A chill ran up his spine. Eyes quickly went to the door. Outside were waves, miles and miles of them. Able to swallow him and hide his body for weeks. No one would know. No one would check.

His nails scratched over the cuts again. It made him feel cold, but it spiked that numb emotion once more. All of his anguish and sadness were put on hold, allowing him to become a void. To be empty. To feel nothing but ice, knowing that his crude blade was his only true friend. The only one who’d fight off the despair and anguish for a time and let him actually cry.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Bastion hugged his knees, resting his head against the tops of them. His back pressed to the cold wall, solidifying him in the spinning room.

He was lucky he was a coward. Ties in this world prevented him from ending it all, and it added to that cowardice.

What would his parents think? Would they cry? Probably. They barely understood him, told him to just ‘be happy’ and to just ‘say what you mean.’

Would his ‘friends’ notice? Not at first. They’d only figure out his death once it was announced on the loudspeakers. And then the water works would start. They’d say how great he was. They’d say how smart he was. They’d say how he was a rival, one of the best. But it’d only be things they’d regurgitate now that someone they knew was gone. Lies to hide the fact that they didn’t actually care. A camaraderie in falsehood.

Jaden might cry. Legitimately. He might blame himself and fall into his own private prison of despair. Maybe lock himself away. Begin his own cutting ritual.

No. For this reason, Bastion remained. Remained to fall to the wayside. Remained to be swept under the rug again and again, smiling and listening, giving his advise and being the shoulder for others to cry on. And when it was his turn to despair, he’d sit in his dark room and wait until he spiraled so far that his crude method would be used again. Wait until he thought this was the night to end it all. To then reach out to select few only to hear one sentence, one word and fall apart. To lock his emotions again as he realized… they just didn’t know and didn’t care.

Despair.

It was his darkest mother… and his eventual grim reaper.


End file.
